


Bring Back Pluto

by Turtle_ier



Series: Turtle's MCYT AUs [3]
Category: Dream Team - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crushes, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Edited as of 25th Feb, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Getting Together, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, References to Depression, Strangers to Lovers, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:34:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25995319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turtle_ier/pseuds/Turtle_ier
Summary: In a dead-end town Dream works a dead-end job, with friends who do nothing and much more than him at once. Still reeling from the end of a long relationship, he feels like the rest of his life will be the same forever. Only when someone new comes through his work place and they get talking does he realise that maybe, just maybe, there's something else out there for him too.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/Wilbur Soot, Other Background Relationships - Relationship
Series: Turtle's MCYT AUs [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1875367
Comments: 55
Kudos: 665





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (25/2/21) THIS WORK HAS BEEN EDITED!   
> I figured I'd put this here rather than at the end as a statement for people who might be returning to this fic. It's still dreamnap, it's still the same story, but I've removed the dreamnoblade from this fic.  
> I didn't know when I was first writing this fanfiction that Techno isn't cool with being shipped, and since this has rapidly become one of my most popular stories, i felt guilty about leaving it in. At one point I debated deleting this fanfic all together, but I figured I'd try and salvage it instead.   
> this story now contains Dream/Wilbur, and since Techno was more of a supporting character prior to the edits, I hope the story doesn't feel too different. I used the Tumblr blog 'smp-boundries' as a reference, and while Wilbur has stated he isn't cool with nsfw art work, he hasn't mentioned fanfiction bothering him. Since the nsfw in this fic is implied, I hope it's okay with him, and if not this work will either be rewritten again or removed entirely.   
> You know the drill - if they don't like it, it's gone.   
> Thank you for reading, and I hope any re-readers are happy with the direction I've decided to take this fic :)

To be honest, Dream didn't even notice the first time that Sapnap came through the store. 

It was an unusually busy Tuesday night, when the air outside was sticky-hot and clinging to every surface like a second skin, even when the sun had eventually set. When he calls it ‘unusually busy’, Dream of course meant that there were three people queuing and no other cash registers were open. It was the most people they’d had queuing all week.

The guy, as the stranger was to Dream at the time, was between a woman frantically packing her three bottles of soda into a bag far too small, and an older man who is only buying a bottle of something strong and a pack of hot dogs. He didn't remember what he looked like, but he remembers this: 

Washing-up liquid,

Olive oil,

Ketchup,

Scissors,

Oil (the kind used on bike chains and squeaky hinges),

And popsicle sticks. 

“That’s $6.34, please,” he said, and he just wanted to go home. 

The guy handed over a ten dollar note, and Dream gave him his change. All of the items disappeared into the pocket of his hoodie, and the change went into the back pocket of his jeans. They said thank you, which may or may not have happened given the fact that Dream was tired, and left. 

The man afterwards had his card declined and had to put the bottle of liquor back. The hot dogs came to $1, and he paid and left too. Dream’s shift was quiet for the rest of the night. 

‘ _Jackie and James’ grocers’_ was an older establishment on the west side of town, a twenty-minute walk from the high school and a thirty-minute drive from the next nearest town. The other grocery store that popped up on the other side of town had taken away a lot of the business from _J &J’s_ (as the locals called it), but it hung on using a mixture of goodwill from older residents, and from the slushie machine that the high schoolers loitered around in the afternoons. It had the typical hodge podge of products, doubling as a hardware store and newsagents, where anyone could pick up a tin of varnish and the weekly shopping if they so choose. Dream tended to work the night shift, inviting less of the DIY’ers, and instead more of the late shift workers. 

Occasionally there would be someone who came through obviously high on something, but if questioned, Dream would say he didn't notice anything unusual about them. Usually, he didn't notice much of anything about the people who came through. Their shopping habits meant nothing, but it was easier to focus on than what kind of look they had about them.

The green and gold (though it was more a yellow colour now) sign outside was peeling, but still legible, and in the autumn the store looked like it belonged on a postcard. Ten years before, the mine at the north side of the town closed down. The agreement in their household was that Dream would pay for gas for his car and his mom’s, but she would pay the mortgage and his dad would take care of the house. She spent more time at work with every passing year, and eventually Dream took over cooking dinner. Their TV bill was the second highest bill that his mom had to pay. 

“How was work?” His dad asked that night. 

The air wasn't any cooler than when he had left for work, and it fizzed with the static from their TV. He ignored the fly in the kitchen when he went to grab a soda. 

“Fine,” Dream said, and went upstairs. 

Two days later and it was Thursday, which was Dream’s favourite day of the week. 

The habit of calling it that hadn't unstuck itself from his brain in the years since middle school, where he had art, drama and music on the same day, but something about Thursdays still made everything seem just a little bit lighter.

He was still working, but it made a difference knowing that it was Thursday. 

The guy came through again, this time when no one else was in the store. Dream didn't notice at first, too busy stacking the tutti frutti flavoured gum beside the checkout, and wondering if each stick of gum was supposed to taste different or if it was always the same. Did tutti frutti come from different fruits? Was it always the same blend? Did anyone actually like fruit flavoured gum? 

He blew a hot breath out of his mouth, aiming it upwards to hit his fringe to hopefully get it out of his eyes. The fan overhead hummed. 

“Excuse me-”

Dream raised his head to address whoever asked the question, but he couldn't when he laid eyes on them, mostly because he smashed his head into the underside of the counter. 

“Oh shi-”

Dream didn't remember much after that. 

What he did remember was this:

A guy with dark hair leaning over him (whether or not he was actually there or a hallucination, Dream also couldn't remember. He wasn't bad looking though. He didn't remember if there was mouth-to-mouth),

His manager also leaning over him (which, ew, ew, ew, please no mouth-to-mouth),

The lights on the ceiling,

The peeling paint on the ceiling,

Being helped up,

His dad pouring him into the back seat of his car (not _his_ car, but his dad’s),

And going to bed early. 

Which was a real shame, considering the fact that he was going to get a slushie on his way home. He lived for his Thursday slushies. 

Dream’s Green Apple™ slushie had a thin line of condensation around the outside of the cup, leaving a ring pooled on the counter of the checkout. He was sitting, which he had learnt was a small luxury when it came to cashier jobs, and was forbidden from moving from that spot. His Manager had told him, in no uncertain terms, that he wasn't allowed to stack shelves until he had completely recovered from his maybe-concussion-but-we’re-not-sure-since-we-didn't-go-to-the-doctors. His dad had told him, in a no-nonsense fashion, that he wasn't allowed to pay for his own slushie. 

And he was so _bored_. 

There was only so much tweeting one could do under the counter before getting bored out of their mind, and Dream had passed that threshold at least an hour ago. 

Where he was sitting, Dream could see the entrance of the store but also the first three aisles. To his back was the hard liquor and cigarettes, and before him were the neon lights of the store that made him want to pull his eyes out. The slushie machine wurred on the counter, ready to be tapped into whenever someone decided that it was worth paying $1.50 for fifteen ounces of frozen sugar, water, and flavouring. Dream couldn't really judge them unless they got cherry, which in his opinion, could only be described as that semi-metallic taste that licking a battery has. Don't ask him how he knows what that tastes like. 

It had been fifteen minutes since he ditched refreshing his twitter feed in favour of reading a gossip magazine, and it had been ten since someone had entered the store. A tinny version of ‘ _This Charming Man_ ’ played quietly over the loudspeaker.

Someone approached the counter, and Dream put down the magazine so that he could budge closer to the counter on his wheelie chair. 

He remembers this: 

A pack of painkillers,

A cheap set of pencils (graphite),

Frozen peas,

A bar of Snickers,

And

“Can I get a slushie too, please?”

Dream looked up.

“Sure,” he said automatically, taking in the appearance of the stranger. 

At first the customer didn't seem particularly unusual, just a guy, maybe around his age, who didn't seem too hot in his hoodie despite the temperature outside. He had dark hair, which grew just long enough to cover his ears, and had a headband to keep it out of his eyes. He looked tired, like he had just got off work and was about to head home. If Dream was really paying attention to the stranger, he would have noticed the smell of pepperoni that appeared with him, but as it stood, he just went to grab one of the cups for the slushie machine. 

“Which flavour would you like?” Dream asked, holding the handle of the green apple flavour. 

The guy didn't look up from his wallet, but replied, “Cherry, please.” 

“Oh,” Dream said without really realising it, and the other guy looked up at him, “Sorry, I just- we don't sell much of that flavour.” 

“You guys out of it?”

“No, I just wasn't expecting it.” 

The guy shrugged, a small smile twitching his lips upwards, “I’m a fan of the bad flavours,” he said.

Dream nodded, pouring the drink out and putting a lid on the cup. He went back to the cash register to put his things through. “Can’t fault you there. Everyone has their taste. That’ll be $8.05, please.”

“Do you drink the slushies?” The guy asked, handing over a ten-dollar bill. 

Dream put the cash through the register and handed back the change. He then reached under the counter for his own slushie, which dripped down onto the side when he shook it from side to side. “I do. Whenever I’m on shift I always put the green apple flavouring in the machine.” 

The guy chuckled as he put everything but the slushie and the bag of peas into his hoodie’s pocket. “Pros of working the register, huh?”

“It does have its benefits.” Dream admitted, “Have a great night.”

“You too,” the guy said, and left the store with the straw in his mouth. 

“How was work?” His dad asked.

“Fine,” Dream said.

Brayford wasn't necessarily a small town, but it wasn't big enough to be called something else either, and it sat on the north-west border of Wisconsin, away from any areas of significant natural beauty. In autumn the trees turned from gold to orange to red to black, and in summer the humidity was high enough to stop people leaving their homes. Last winter, Dream’s house got snowed in. 

A lot of people Dream knew in school had moved away. George was at college, somewhere a bit further south and out of the state. Wilbur (or Wil to his friends, but Dream wouldn't consider him that far up the friendship totem pole) tried college but didn't make it past his first year, but never stated why. Phil, who was more Wilbur’s friend than anyone else's, often travelled out of the state to visit his girlfriend, for which many of them were jealous. Techno was also at college, but only an hour or so drive away. He was around enough to be a familiar sight, but not around enough to have a permanent smoking spot around the bonfire. 

Tommy wasn't old enough to smoke or drink, but came along anyway, dragging two of his disgruntled friends along with him every time. They weren’t old enough to be there either, but since they were quiet no one really bothered them. The one with darker hair often wore a blue parka and buried himself in it, while the other was more recognisable, only because of the hand knitted scarf he wore that looked like a fox. If Techno was there, and feeling particularly teasing, he asked the guy if he bought it at Clare’s. 

There were a few other faces that popped up occasionally, mainly from the other side of town, but they were so few and far between that Dream didn’t bother getting to know them. They were more Wilbur’s friends, which he seemed to acquire like a lawn acquired weeds. Dream couldn't quite tell if they were always welcome, or whether they pestered Wilbur into letting them come. 

It was an awkward see-saw when it came to that guy. A wannabe narcissist, but somehow still a good guy deep down, even if he hid it quite well. He always had this air of arrogance to him which never went too far, and he teased people if they brought it up. Dream wasn't alone when he said that he didn't quite know where he stood. 

It wasn't late, yet, but when Dream turned away from the bonfire to have a breather, there was a distinct chill in the air. 

“What happened to your head, mate?” Phil asked him as he handed Dream a can of soda. 

Dream thanked him and cracked it open, taking a seat on the log that Phil was using. Wilbur’s coat was on the other side of Phil, so he took care in avoiding it. 

“I was stupid.”

“O-kay…” Phil said, obviously expecting more of an answer. 

“Some guy got my attention as I was refilling the gum, you know under the counter? Raised my head to look at him and smacked it on the edge.” 

“Oooh, ouch. Are you all good? It looks painful” as he said it, Phil gestured to the area on Dream’s forehead that had the bruise. 

“Yeah, just sore. I don't feel it unless I touch it.”

“That’s good at least.” 

Dream let the conversation pause for a moment, and he and Phil watched Tommy try to convince one of Wilbur’s other friends that he was old enough to drink. A distinct feeling overtook him, and before he could lose his nerve he asked Phil, “Do you think it’s weird that I don't really know anyone from outside of town?” 

Phil blinked at him. Usually the other man was one of the group, always feeling as if he was around the same age despite being older, but Dream could tell that he was going into his ‘I’m older so listen to my advice’ mode. “Not necessarily weird,” Phil said, “but it might be good to try and join some groups online or something, or talk to some other people in the town outside of this group, if you’re feeling up for it.” 

Dream figured that he would say something like that. Someone put another branch on the bonfire and the light flared up again, revealing the forest around them slightly more. Phil didn't look tired, but did seem thoughtful. 

“Do you still talk to George?”

“When I can. He’s busy in the day and I’m busy in the evenings. It’s tough.” 

“Maybe you should book some time off to go see him. It might be cool to go see his college or something.” 

“How often do you go see your girlfriend?”

“I go to hers every four months, but she comes up here too.”

“Do you miss her?”

“Every day. Do you miss George?”

Dream smiled slightly, and prayed that his sadness didn't come across. 

“Sometimes.” 

Walking home, with the moon to his back and the pavement cold beneath his feet, Dream thought about a wider life. What would he do if he lived in a city, or another country? Would he miss his family? Would he no longer have the friends that he had now? 

Would he be missed? 

He knew he had to stop smoking, even if he never bought his own and always bummed it off someone else. The smoke felt good to inhale though, and it gave him a good excuse to disappear for a little while. The streets were no different from usual. The air was cool. He was in no hurry. 

Three days later, and it was Monday. Dream arrived for his shift alone, parking his car around the back of the store before walking through the front. Only staff accepting deliveries went through the back door, and since the only thing Dream was delivering was himself and the rain that made his shoulders damp he didn't meet the requirement. At the sight of him coming through the door, Fran immediately went into the staff room to grab her coat. 

She was stout with a grey perm, and while she usually frowned wide enough to give a blobfish a run for its money, her smiles could almost be called charming. 

“We’ve ran out of tutti frutti,” she said, pointing to the slushie machine, “the ants got to it. I put in the cherry again.”

“Alright,” Dream said, dumping his bag behind the counter, “See you around.”

Fran waved and disappeared. Less than a minute later, her car pulled out of the parking lot. Dream was alone again. 

The pad of paper behind the checkout counter, which usually held the shifts and tasks that needed to be done each day, was hanging up on an old tack, ready to be pulled down and flipped through. Dream did exactly that, and he remembers this:

Count the register after closing,

 ~~Sweep below the shelves on aisle 4~~ , 

Restock the ice cream freezer,

Mop the back room,

 ~~Phone Andrew about the broken price gun~~ ,

Count the stock on aisle 7. 

He put the list back. Everything on it was easy enough, but mopping the back room and counting the register would have to wait until the store was officially closed, but counting and restocking was easy enough. 

Dream looked at the security camera feed behind the counter, and after not seeing any movement, he went to get the ice cream from the chest freezers out back. He dumped three or so boxes into one of the carts and wheeled it back into the store. It seemed impossible, but an even worse sounding version of ‘ _Mad World_ ’ played over the radio, which crackled and warped occasionally, no doubt due to the wind outside. Tub by tub, Dream put the ice cream into the freezers, making a game out of putting them all facing the same (wrong) direction. He whistled something musical as he did, with no real rhyme, reason, or effort put into it. 

The only thing that made that day more special than his last shift was that his head didn't hurt so much. 

It was August, now, it had been a dry summer so far and some of the ash trees that lined the roadside on his way to work were already starting to lose their leaves, falling in clumps whenever the wind blew too harshly. A couple of times Dream had to pull leaves from his windscreen wipers to stop them from dragging dark smears across the glass. 

With the last of the ice cream in the freezer, Dream began pulling apart the cardboard boxes they came in, but someone caught his attention. 

“Excuse me?” 

It was the guy from a few nights ago, still in the same hoodie and smelling of pepperoni. He looked tired, blinking against the lights in the store, and Dream felt a pang of sympathy that he didn't the last time they met. Maybe it was because he sort of knew him now. Sort of.

“Hello,” Dream said, “What can I help you with?” 

“Um,” the guy said, “I’m sorry about that time I snuck up on you and you hurt your head.” 

Dream blinked. “When I was stacking gum?”

“Yeah,” he said, “It’s just. My shoes are really worn so they don't make noise, and I didn't mean to scare you-”

“It’s cool,” Dream said immediately, waving a hand in front of him, “nothing permanent. It happens.” 

“I know, but I was going to say something the other night and chickened out.” 

“Nah, don't worry about it. Like I said, it’s already healing.” Dream smiled at the guy, but noticed the things under his arm. He asked, “Do you need me to check you out?”

The guy blinked. 

“Check me out?”

“Your stuff.” 

“Oh! Right, yeah. Yes please.” 

Dream left the shopping cart with the empty boxes in the aisle and moved to the checkout, with the guy trailing behind him holding his items. 

He remembers this:

An iced tea (peach),

A pack of sliced ham,

A box of tacks, 

A carton of milk,

And,

“Can I get two slushies as well please? One of each this time.” 

Dream nodded after scanning all of the other items, and turned to the slushie machine again. It wasn't as hot as it had been the other day when the guy came in, so Dream didn't have his own drink on the counter with him, and the slushie that came out of the machine was smooth like soft-serve ice cream. He pulled the green apple flavour first, secured the lid, and then pulled the cherry through as well. The guy, as this was happening, shuffled through his wallet for some cash. 

“What’s your name, by the way?” the guy asked as Dream put the drinks on the counter and pulled up the total.

“Dream,” he said, “and yours?”

“Nick. Most people call me Sapnap.”

“That’s an unusual name,” Dream said, “That comes to $7.35 then, please.” 

“My job, uh, one of them, there’s three of us called Nick. It just makes it easier.”

“Do the other two have nicknames too?”

“Uh huh,” Sapnap handed over a $10 note, “Beanie and General.”

Dream put through the money, “Are you from around here?”

“Next town over. That’s where everyone calls me Sapnap. One of my jobs is here in Brayford so I come here on my way back home.”

“Fair enough,” Dream said and handed him his change, “have a great night, yeah?”

“Will do.” Sapnap, like last time, put everything in his pockets aside from the carton of milk and the cherry slushie. “The green one is yours, by the way.”

“Dude,” Dream began to refuse.

“It’s an apology. A ‘sorry I scared you and you knocked yourself out’ apology.” Sapnap tipped his own slushie in a mock toast, “Goodnight, Dream.” 

Sapnap left, leaving Dream behind the counter with a green apple slushie that was beginning to sweat. 

And that was it. Just one conversation with someone ‘not from around here’ and he was hooked. 

Hardly a love story for the ages. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Ask him out :o**

_No._

**He bought you a slushie, that’s basically a marriage proposal.**

_I’ve talked to the guy twice. Besides, wouldn't you mind?_

**I might be a little jealous, but not of you being in a relationship. I want you to be happy.**

_I want you to be happy too, George. Will me being in a relationship really do that for you?_

**It’s worth a shot. What did you always say to me? ‘Chances are just choices, like deciding what to have for breakfast’?**

_Do you remember that it was YOU asking ME?_

**Do you remember what I did?**

_…_

**And how does that compare to what he did?**

_He’s still not interested in me._

**If he does ask you out, I’ll shout ‘I told you so’ so loud that you’ll be able to hear it all the way from my college.**

Dream usually had Wednesdays off, which he reserved especially for two things - sleeping and socialising. The former was a requirement, but the latter was more of an ‘as necessary’ requirement. It seemed, then, that the dreary Wednesday afternoon had become an ‘as necessary’ socialising time. 

“You look better than when I last saw you, mate,” Phil said, leaning against the brick wall of the Otterfort bridge. 

The bridge wasn't particularly long, but did span over a river and towards an old civil war memorial on the south side of town, which is where the bridge gained its name. Brayford itself got its name from the river that Otterfort bridge crossed over, which was just called the Ford. Phil was currently using its overhang as a smoking spot, and Wilbur was there too, still in the not-quite-friend mindset. He was leaning against the bridge too, his shoulders and beanie damp.

“Feel it too,” Dream said, and accepted the unlit cigarette that Wilbur handed him with a smile. “Are you two up to much?”

“Not today,” Wilbur said, burying his hands in the pocket of his hoodie. His bottom lip stuck out slightly, and if not for the lit cigarette in his mouth, Dream might have called his expression a pout. 

“No, not today.” Phil agreed. “We were thinking about seeing if the gate at the memorial was open like that other time, but we’re waiting for the rain to stop.”

Dream hummed in acknowledgement. Phil lent his head back against the wall of the bridge, and if it weren’t for him standing upright, Dream would have said he looked asleep. 

“You look like you have a question,” Wilbur stated, and something about his face seemed teasing. 

“No,” Dream said. 

“No you don't have a question, or no you don't _look_ like you have a problem?”

“Who said I have a question?”

“I did and I didn't,” Wilbur said, “you _look_ like you do, but I don't _know_ if you do.” 

Phil watched the exchange silently. 

“I don't have a problem,” Dream declared, “not a real one, anyway.”

“Do you want to talk about it anyway?” Phil asked, cautiously. 

Dream shrugged his shoulders around his jacket. He could feel the hood of his hoodie, which stuck out behind his neck, getting wetter by the minute, despite being under the bridge. Phil and Wilbur didn't look like they were expecting him to say something, which made it easier to talk. 

“George has moved on.”

They didn't look surprised, but Wilbur did grimace with sympathy. 

“I’m sorry, mate,” Phil said, but Dream shook his head. 

“No, it’s cool, it’s just-” Dream cut himself off and moved to the wall, slouching against it. He finally fished out his lighter from his pocket to light his cigarette, and he took a deep breath. He knew he had to stop smoking, even if they were never his own. 

“It sometimes feels out of the blue,” Phil said, but he didn't sound condescending or like he was giving a lecture. If anything, he sounded like he had been there too. “When they either move on or ask you to do it for them.”

Dream glanced at Wilbur, but didn't see anything in his expression that agreed with or disagreed with Phil. If anything, he seemed to be thinking.

“I guess,” he settled on saying. “He said that he wants me to be happy, and that if I am then he might be too.”

“What brought the conversation on?” Wilbur finally asked, and Dream groaned. 

“There’s- I’m going to sound like an idiot,” Dream said. A car passed over Otterfort bridge. 

“We all do sometimes,” Wilbur said, “It’s better just to get on with it than it is to worry about it happening.” 

Dream often forgot about how smart Wilbur could be sometimes. It was one of the reasons why they got talking in the first place - being top of two different classes, always getting in arguments with one another about who was right. If anything it made their relationship (and yes, relationship, considering what happened in the last year of high school before he and George were a thing) stronger. 

“If you’re cool with me sounding like an idiot, then okay,” Dream sighed and ashed his cigarette, “Okay so. You know at the bonfire Phil, when you asked me about this?” Dream gestured to the yellowing bruise on his forehead and Phil nodded, “well, it happened when I was stacking the gum by the register and someone was going to ask me for help. I went to stand up and knocked myself out on the counter.”

“And this is relevant because…?” Wilbur said. 

“I’m getting there. Anyway, I went home that night and slept it off for the next couple of days. The guy that asked for help came in on my next shift and bought a few things, whatever, and we got talking about slushies. He asked for cherry, you know, objectively the worst flavour, and it came out that I like green apple. Whatever.” 

Phil was nodding along to the story, but like Wilbur, he didn't seem to know where the story was going. Dream took another drag. 

“He came in yesterday night as well. He works around here but lives a town over. He apologised because he was the one asking for help when I brained myself on the counter. He bought some stuff, asked for two slushies, one cherry and one green apple, and I figured that he was giving the green apple one to like a sibling or just having it himself, you know, but he leaves and tells me to keep it. Like as an apology.”

“So George thought that the guy was coming on?” Phil asked, “since it was so similar to how, you know?”

“I guess. That’s when he told me that he wants me to be happy.” 

“Do you know the guy’s name?”

“He said it was Nick, but also said that most people call him Sapnap.”

“Two years below us,” Wilbur said immediately, “he was the oldest in his year. I think he was in media, mostly.” 

“You’re making true on your title as the town gossip there, Wilbur,” Phil said around his laugh.

Wilbur shrugged, “I only know because Techno told me.”

“Ah. _He’s_ making his name as the town gossip then. Did you and this Nick guy talk?”

“I didn't talk to him, no. Tommy bothered him a lot. I don't think Nick so much as looked at him.” 

Phil giggled and shook his head, and Wilbur was smirking too, but Dream didn't really get the joke. The rain by this point had eased off slightly, and while the sky didn't look like it was going to get any brighter any time soon, Wilbur took the lead in trooping up the slope they had all struggled down to get under the bridge. It was more slippery than before, and the thin layer of fallen leaves from the willow trees nearby didn't help, but eventually they all made it atop Otterfort bridge and began their walk south, with the war memorial in mind. 

Dream remembers this:

The sound of trickling water as they crossed the ford,

Wilbur’s boots brushing through a pile of fallen leaves,

The smell of wet earth, like that found in a forest,

Trees rustling against one another, but more so the visual than the sound,

And Phil talking about what might be found after they either went through or jumped the gate.

“I think it might just be a field,” he said, “since there’s that farm, you know? They were growing corn last year.” 

“I’ve read ‘The Children of the Corn’, Phil, I’m not going to piss about in a corn field.”

“What if it’s like wheat or something?”

Wilbur seemed to consider it. “...Maybe,” he said. 

Turning one last corner, and the roundabout with the war memorial appeared. Its base had wreaths of plastic poppies surrounding it, many of which had faded to a pink colour after being left there in the elements for so long, but a few still had vivid red petals and deep black centres. It was somewhat ironic that the flowers surrounding the memorial were fake considering the outcrops of actual, living poppies that forged their way through the concrete pavement in the area. There were no houses down the road, and each side was lined with trees, which were only just starting to turn yellow, and on the other side of the memorial the road continued onwards as far as they could see. On the right side, as Phil had mentioned, there was a low farm gate, which was locked on the side without hinges. Behind the gate Dream could clearly see a muddy path, wide enough for a tractor or other farm equipment to go down, and with more trees either side. 

Wilbur, being the tallest of the three, was able to go over the gate with ease and hit the other side with a thump. Phil went over next and was slightly more cautious, but the sound of his watch hitting the gate rang out in the area and a bird in a tree nearby flew off. Dream, much like Wilbur, got across without any problems. 

They stuck to the edges of the path this time, unwilling to contend with the mud and puddles in the middle and instead walking on the grass. Dream felt like he should fill the silence, but with what exactly he wasn't sure, as Phil was usually the one doing most of the talking. He had a natural talent for getting along with other people, which was most obvious when he was still in their school. Despite being two years above Wilbur and Dream, Phil was still a prominent figure, making up one of the people on the student council and helped campaign for more outdoor benches back when the school only had two. It was unfortunate that they were not in a more important part of the country, or at least a bigger town. Phil probably could have run for mayor. Hell, he probably would have won. 

Eventually they came to a stop. There was another gate to their left, breaking up the line of trees on that side, and they could clearly see corn fields through it. What was in front of them, however, caught their attention in a way that corn never could. 

“Oh, this,” Dream said, “I’d forgotten that this place existed.”

“What on earth happened to it?” Phil took a step closer. 

“It just outlived its use,” Wilbur said and shrugged, “you know how it is.” 

‘It’ being an abandoned gas station, rendered unrecognisable from the ivy climbing between the columns and overhangs like spiderwebs, and with walls slogged and darkened from rainwater. The building looked like it was decaying at a rapid rate, almost before their eyes, as they took in more details, from the cracked asphalt to the sign by the side of the unused road, hollowed out but still with the metal frame that used to hold a sign. Wires dripped down from the roof of the gas station and into the areas the cars would have used to park, mingling with the ivy and making a strange electronic and natural combination. The checkout and store inside looked like they’d been looted a thousand times before they discovered the place, with its windows smashed inwards and sliding doors missing. The only thing that looked intact was the door on the side of the building that faced the corn field, which had warning signs on it with ‘high voltage!’ and ‘danger!’ advertising what was inside. 

The gas station looked like it hadn't been used in years, with the plaster falling from the walls and the roof caving in. Dream hazarded a step towards the building, taking in the tall, unkempt hedges that surrounded it from prying eyes on three sides, and looking at the pumps themselves, some of which were gone completely, and others of which were broken across the floor, like unwanted fruit fallen from a tree.

“Damn,” Phil said, kicking one of the pieces of metal from the pumps. It tipped water onto the asphalt, leaving a shiny mark on the already wet floor. Despite the rain having eased, water still dripped from the ivy and onto the floor below, but none of them had actually gone beneath the structure yet, it seeming too unstable to take chances with. 

Wilbur edged his way around the building, walking through the lot and to where cars would usually exit, and he stopped when he was far enough to see the back of the building.

“Guys,” he said, “do you want to go up?”

“Up?” Dream furrowed his brows, “what do you mean?”

“There’s a fire escape. We could go on the roof.” 

“Is that wise?” Phil said, and he crossed his arms. His coat puffed out in the arms, making him look colder than he actually was.

Wilbur shrugged and disappeared behind the building, and Dream, against better judgement, jogged to catch up with him. The ladder looked like the newest part of the building, which didn't amount to much since many of its rungs were still red-stained from rust, but Wilbur valiantly (or maybe stupidly) went first and made his way to the top without incident, with the ladder only making a few squeals of protest. He didn't look back when he got to the top and walked forward out of view, the grey sky occupying the space that he left behind. 

Dream looked to Phil, who shrugged, and followed. Phil stayed on the ground, watching them both go, but he yelled up behind them, “I’ll keep an eye out.”

“What for?” Dream asked as he looked back down. 

“This is trespassing. I’m not gonna stop you, but I’ll warn you if I see someone.” 

Dream shrugged and followed Wilbur further onto the roof. 

Over what used to be the shop, the roof was stable but had some stagnant puddles of rain water near to its edges, and had ivy growing up and over one side of it. The area overlooking where the cars used to fill up had caved in, however the canopy of ivy made a false cover to replace it. An odd wind blew through the air, which felt wet with rain and slightly cold, but Dream couldn't quite tell if it was because it was pleased to see them or was warning them off exploring further. 

The only thing of any note was an area overlooking the cornfields, which was mostly dry despite the puddles on the roof. It was only of note because it suggested someone had been there, but exactly when they had been was difficult to tell. Wilbur kicked one of the beer bottles over the ledge of the roof, and it shattered down below, mingling with the glass from the windows. 

“This place is terrible,” Wilbur declared, and he made his way back to the ladder, “ Are you coming?”

Dream spared a glance at the bottles again, but ultimately, said nothing and followed behind. 

_Maybe_ , he thought, _this would be a good place to come back to alone_. 

It was Thursday, Dream’s favourite day of the week, and his manager had given him the day off again. 

“Reduced hours,” they’d said, “since we don't do much business it’s just me tonight. You don't mind, right?” 

Dream did mind, but said that he didn't. At the very least it gave him more time to do nothing and have no money. 

“Your sarcasm might kill you one day,” his dad said, “Someone will rob you at knife point and you’ll piss them off.” 

“Damn, imagine that,” Dream said, “Being held at knife point. I bet that’s going to happen in this town where everyone knows everyone.”

“Okay, bad example, but you know what I mean. What do you want on your pizza?” 

“Just cheese, please,” Dream didn't look away from his phone, “I’ll pay you back, yeah?”

“Can you cover the tip? You don't need to pay for the pizzas as well. Are you cool waiting on the porch for it?”

Dream nodded, and his dad left the room. Immediately, he tossed his head back and sighed, the sound coming out of him like air from a balloon, gradually, before he stopped breathing and closed his eyes for a second. Other than the crack under his door, his computer and his phone were the only lights in his bedroom, which made the ceiling light up with the tell-tale bluish glow that was a signature of electronics. 

He pushed his thumb and forefinger into his eyes in an attempt to wake himself up, but it only half worked, instead succeeding in making him see an oil spill of colours behind his eyelids. He grabbed his phone and stood, kicking aside one of his nicer hoodies in favour of grabbing a more comfortable one, grabbed one of his ‘borrowed’ cigarettes, and shouldered his way through his bedroom door. He could hear his dad on the phone as he took the stairs two at a time, and they exchanged nods as Dream went out onto the porch. 

Again, as soon as the door closed, he let out a breath he had unknowingly been holding. He collapsed into the cheap folding chair that they kept out there and tossed his feet up onto the banister. He watched the night time move before his eyes, as the trees in the yard opposite tussled in the wind and the rain spilt through the streetlight like static. It wasn't particularly heavy, but if Dream were to go out in it for some reason he’d be feeling it in less than a minute. Autumn was well and truly upon them, hitting Wisconsin earlier than some of the states further south and lingering until November. Dream liked autumn. He liked winter too, but something about autumn, the wind, the rain, the colours and the smells just made it all the better.

He remembers:

A white car travelling slightly too fast and splashing a puddle up the sidewalk,

The smell of a distant fire,

The faint sound of the TV inside,

A drop of rain water falling down the back of his hoodie,

Cold plastic beneath his hands,

And the buzz of his phone. 

He watched the world for a while, but eventually, he pulled his cigarette and his lighter out and got to checking his messages. 

**Is Brayford the same as ever?**

_You know it is._

**Have you seen the guy again?**

_I’m not working tonight, so no. Might see him tomorrow. Why? Are you interested in this stranger?_

**I'm interested _for_ you. You need someone who will use you as a mouthpiece sometimes. **

Dream chuckled and took a screenshot of the text George had sent him and cropped it. He sent it back.

_;)_

**That too. Maybe you do need someone to use you ;) Give Wil a call.**

_No._

**Why not?**

_No. No, no. No._

**Worth a shot. Keep him in mind though.**

A car pulled up and parked, and Dream stood to grab the cash his dad had left inside on the table beside the front door. The car was a faded red colour and had three doors, and on its roof was one of those tacky light boxes that pizza companies stuck onto the roof of their driver’s cars. The guy in the car exited and walked to the passenger side, picking up the warming bag and closing the door again, before walking up the driveway. 

“Hey,” Dream said as he counted the money, “$21.50, right?”

“Uh-huh,” the guy said, and Dream paused.

“You're that guy. Sapnap.”

“Uh-huh,” Sapnap said, and Dream could hardly see his face beneath his baseball hat, “I’m surprised you remembered me, to be honest.” 

“Do you remember me?”

“Dream,” Sapnap said, “I remember you.” 

Dream blinked, but accepted the pizzas when Sapnap handed them over, and he put them on the chair to free his hands. Sapnap counted the cash and pocketed it.

“Oh shit,” Dream said, “Hang on, I left your tip inside. One second.”

“Okay but I’m keeping the pizzas out here,” Sapnap said, but there was no hostility, only a slight teasing tone.

“Yeah, you know where I live, I’m not trying anything,” Dream laughed and went inside, taking the stairs two at a time to his room. He raided his wallet for a five dollar note, then hesitated and flicked on the light on his nightstand. Ripping out a piece of paper from his old physics text book, Dream scrawled his number, his heart beating in his throat like he was doing something dangerous, something he shouldn't be, or like- 

No. Not that. 

Folding the paper into the bill, Dream went down again and pulled open the door. 

“Here, sorry,” he said, handing over the folded note. Thankfully, Sapnap just took it with a shadowed smile and didn't pause to open it out. 

“It’s cool man,” he said, and Dream could only tell that he was smiling because of a dimple highlighted by the streetlight, “Have a great night.” 

“You too,” Dream said, and even if he didn't do anything wrong, he still felt like a coward. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the next updates might be a bit slow because my laptop has decided to start breaking... If I need to send it off to get fixed ill try to publish all of the fic before I do... hopefully its all alright? hopefully?


	3. Chapter 3

_Wilbur._

What’s up?

_Wanna meet up?_

And do what?

_Like old times._

You sound ridiculous.

_Yes or no responses only._

Fine. 

_Where?_

Come to mine.

Wilbur scrolled through his phone when Dream was still trying to get his breath back, and didn't pay any attention to when he leaned up to cool off his back. 

“Thanks,” Dream said, hunched over himself and with the duvet pooling by his hips. 

“It’s cool,” Wilbur replied, putting down his phone, “thank you too.”

“Are you working tonight?”

“Yeah, from six. You?”

“At seven.” 

Wilbur rummaged through his bedside draw and pulled out a mirror, maybe the size of his palm, and after looking at himself for a second he sighed and put it away. 

“I think I’ll need to shave before I go. Sorry.”

“It’s cool. Should I go?”

“What time is it?”

“Five.”

“Then yeah, sorry. You can stay a little bit longer if you want, but I need to get ready.” 

Wilbur stood and grabbed a towel to wipe his arms down with, and Dream fell back onto the bed with an ‘oof’. Wilbur left the room without putting anything on, which was one of the advantages to having his own place. He had moved out as soon as he got a job, but the disadvantage of his decision was the lack of savings in his account. The apartment could be worse, Dream supposed, and the location for Wilbur’s job was ideal, so it was hardly a bad choice, though in Wilbur’s opinion anywhere that wasn't his parent’s home was fantastic. Dream had seen the family photos all over the hallway when Wilbur was still living with them, but he knew that the smiling faces were just put on for the camera.

Dream closed his eyes against the soft light that filtered through Wilbur’s curtains and resisted the new nervous habit of checking his phone for new messages. Coming to Wilbur’s place helped immensely, but now that his distraction was out of the room and he was left alone with his thoughts the urge to check it was stronger than ever. 

Wilbur entered the room again, no longer smelling of sweat and shaved but unshowered, and he went to the exposed rail on the opposite side of the room to pull a shirt from a hanger. If not for his tattoo on his wrist and the ear piercing, when he was in his work uniform he cut an imposing figure, but Dream always felt the need to wonder why he dressed so nicely for a job as an emergency telephone operator. 

“It’s just for professionalism,” Wilbur had said when Tommy, with no subtlety, had asked. “It’s good to look good, especially since I’m trying to go further with it.” 

And yeah, he had to admit that Wilbur did make a good-looking figure, but that might have been because of the fact that he was still naked from the waist down.

“Wilbur,” Dream began.

“Yeah?”

“If you could go back in time and change anything about life, what would you change?” 

The question has been playing on his mind for a while. Wilbur didn’t say anything for a moment as he looked in the mirror to do his tie. 

“I,” he declared, “would bring back Pluto.” 

“Pluto?”

“Yeah.” 

“Why?”

“Why not? And besides, what good has happened since it’s been gone?” 

Dream blinked. “I guess,” he said, not really knowing what to do with that reply. 

It was darker outside when Dream left Wilbur’s apartment, and he walked along the main street under the impression that it might rain. Some of the shops he passed were already closed, but the florists, the pharmacy and the bookshop that was always desperate for customers were still open, with their chalkboard signs out on the sidewalk to entice people inside. The streetlights were on too, making the evening feel stranger than it might have been if they were off, as the not quite darkness didn't really make them seem necessary. It was like they were not supposed to be there at all. 

Dream’s hands itched inside the pockets of his jacket. It was difficult to focus on walking when he so desperately wanted to stop and pull out his phone, but to do what he wasn't sure. It was one of two things - to see if he had any texts, or to tell George that his advice was more useful than he’d appreciated at the time. 

He didn't though, and made it all the way along the main street before turning the corner down his road without checking it. But then his pocket buzzed. 

Unknown number

Hi 👋☺️ 

This is going to sound weird 😬 😬 but I had this number mixed in with my tips last night! 🥺

I don't know who gave it to me since I counted it today 😅😭 

Please let me know who you are! I’d love to talk to you! ✨💃✨😜

Dream blinked. He didn't remember giving his number to an eight-year-old. 

_This is Dream?_

He typed the message with one hand, but then deleted it again.

_It’s Dream :)_

That felt more casual, but maybe too confident. Dream tilted the phone from side to side but settled on sending it anyway, consequences be damned. He shoved the phone back in his pocket without another glance and almost jogged the rest of the way home, filled with a nervous energy and an uncomfortable feeling that chased him up the streets like an angry dog. Finally, he reached his house and pulled the door open, kicking off his shoes on the porch before going inside. 

“How was your friend?” his dad asked from the living room, the crackle-pop of the TV following his voice.

Dream didn't stop, but yelled, “Fine. I’ve got work in half an hour.” 

“Don't let them work you too hard. There’s leftovers if you want them.” 

“Thanks,” Dream yelled again, but he was already up the stairs, taking off his jacket and throwing it onto the floor with the other half of his belongings. 

The room smelt damp from his towel, still wet from his shower that morning, but it was bright and a more welcoming sight than usual, partly due to the opened curtains, but it was mostly his bed that did it. He didn't stop until he was burying his head in the duvet. The mattress squeaked and stilled. 

A dulled buzz came from the floor, and Dream looked to where his jacket was in a crumpled heap. He blew a piece of his fringe out of his face (he really had to get a haircut at some point) and reached down for his phone, before pulling the duvet up and under his chin to act as a rest. With his arms stretched out before him, he opened his messages app. 

Unknown Number

Dream 😁

I was hoping it was you

_..Really?_

Everyone else I delivered to was like double my age. At LEAST 😒

What are you up to tonight? Anything cool?

_Work. I should be getting ready, actually… whoops._

Damn same 😩 

I was gonna say, if you’re up for it, we should hang out sometime.

It’s cool if you don't want to though. 

_Would you want to?_

Sure 🙂 I don't know many people around my age. 

I could show you where I used to hang out

You know, when I was into vandalism… 😇

Sorry, I made this weird 😬 

Let’s not go to my old vandalism hot-spots 

_Yeah, I'm down to hang out if you are._

_When is good for you?_

Are you free Saturday night? 

_As a matter of fact, yeah._

“So, um, Fran,” Dream said as he pulled his jacket off. 

She sent him a cold look, and she didn't pause in packing her handbag. “What?” she asked, but it came across more pissed off than he was hoping for. 

“Can I swap a shift with you?” 

Fran paused and looked at him, a confused expression on her face. 

“What’s keeping you busy in the evenings? Aren't they the only shifts you do?” 

“This Saturday,” he said, and she was already pulling a face, “I have something… booked.”

“I value my evenings, Dream. Besides, I'm not feeling generous, the same way you weren't when you turned up fifteen minutes late. What is possibly so important that it is worth more than my time?”

He said the first thing he could think of. 

“I have a date.” 

Fran paused. She looked at him like she hadn't seen him in days. “A date?” she said with a voice not quite disbelieving, which Dream hadn’t been expecting, “with who?”

“Um, someone from the next town over. They said this Saturday night was the only time they're free.” 

“Dream,” Fran took one of her manicured hands from her bag and put it on his shoulder, “you are so lucky that I’m an old woman with a weakness for young love. I’ll do your shift and you can do my Sunday afternoon one. Deal?” 

“Deal,” Dream said with a relieved smile, “and you’re not _that_ old.” 

“Ha!” 

The rest of his shift was quiet, and he spent most of his time checking off the things on the to-do list. 

He remembers:

‘Stayin Alive’ playing over the radio, but with all of its lyrics unrecognisable,

Fumbling a jar of pasta sauce and dropping it,

Cleaning up the pasta sauce,

Whistling ‘Stayin Alive’ for the rest of the night,

Thinking of that one scene in ‘The Office’ and laughing out loud like a weirdo,

Looking out the window, leaning on the palm of his hand, and thinking about tomorrow. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT A WEEK!
> 
> Your boi's laptop was indeed broken, as I mentioned in the notes of the last chapter, and as I feared I needed to send it off to be repaired, so despite having finished this fanfiction ages ago, I'm only able to post it now! Thank you to all the lovely people who have left kudos and whatnot in my absence, and I hope that now my laptop is fixed you will all enjoy the last two chapters :) 
> 
> Now on with the fic!


	4. Chapter 4

It was Saturday. 

A gentle drizzle had begun at around ten that morning, and hadn't stopped since, making everything outside shiny but slippery, and people who would have otherwise gone shopping or walking were staying inside to avoid getting slowly but surely soaked. Dream watched the weather with an anxious feeling jiggling one of his legs, paying more attention to the water streaking down the window than to the screen of his computer. The stress had gotten to him already, and he’d cleaned his room properly for the first time in months, even the questionable old t-shirt which needed to be scrubbed had been, which was a trial and a half, but a good distraction. 

Dream’s last message sat like lead in his phone.

_So where should we meet?_

On the one hand, since it was so wet outside it would make it difficult to do anything that Dream usually did for fun, like visiting the bonfire site or messing about in the woods and ‘private’ property (if they wanted it to be private then they should put up a higher fence, but that was just his opinion), and to make it worse, Dream didn't know the area that Sapnap lived in, so if they decided to meet up there he’d be a fish out of water. 

If he got a reply, that was. His phone was on charge beside his bed, which was on the opposite side of the room, and he hadn't heard a peep from it since Wilbur sent a meme to the group chat. 

Distantly, thunder rumbled outside. His phone buzzed. 

Contact: Sapnap

Do you want to meet in Brayford? 

I know both my town and yours so it’s not too big a deal for me 😊

_TBH I think I would, I don't know where you live._

_As in, like whereabouts._

_I made this awkward, sorry._

It’s cool. Do you know ‘Bill’s’? 

_Bill’s?_

It’s a burger place, but they do take-out only. 

It’s honestly so good 😋😋

_Oh, maybe I do. It does that one that’s only bacon, right? ‘The Final Challenge’?_

_I know someone who tried that. They passed out in the back of my car and I couldn't move them, so I just left them there overnight._

Oh damn, I’ve never seen someone take that one on 😮

But yeah, that’s where I mean 😋 You up for it?

_Yep. Does 5.30 sound good? We can meet at the town centre._

Perfect. 

🍔🥤🍟😋

Well… that could have been worse. 

Like, much, much worse. 

There was still that stupid voice in his head calling it what it wasn't though, his excuse in the conversation with Fran rubbing off on him a little bit too much for his comfort. _It’s not a date,_ Dream told himself, _if you don't blow it, it might be, but for now it’s not a date._

 _It’s not a date,_ Dream said to himself as he fished around his wardrobe for a nicer shirt. He settled on a standard long-sleeved jersey, which was back and relatively new, and would hopefully look ok with the green jacket that he’d developed a habit of wearing. Anything was better than the forest-green and yellow of his work uniform, or the faded grey hoodie that Sapnap had seen him wearing. 

_It’s not a date_ , Dream told himself when he brushed through his hair, wishing again that he had the foresight to get it cut. It lay limply at the sides of his head, slightly curled from the damp weather but not dirty, even if it wasn't as bright a blonde as it was when he was a kid. His mom insisted that it was cute like this, even if it did mean that it was a pain to take care of. 

_It’s not a date,_ Dream thought as he put on a nicer pair of trainers, ones without mud stains from going up to the bonfire, and not the cheap ones he reserved for work. The toe of the trainers was glossy, showing how little he had worn them. 

_It’s not a date,_ Dream had to keep repeating when he was brushing his teeth. Why was he brushing his teeth when he and Sapnap were just going to eat somewhere? Would Sapnap think that he was trying too hard if he noticed? Would he notice at all? 

He decided to walk into town that evening, rather than driving, on the simple premise that it gave him time to think about what he would say. The confident angle he’d taken so far had paid off, but that was when he was in ‘Customer Service mode’ (as George used to call it) and the other time was through texts, which always sounded far more different than real life. 

The rain hit the hood of his jacket and slipped off, running down his shoulders and onto the floor like a sort of secondary downpour. It wasn't particularly heavy, but the _tap tap tap_ of the droplets hitting his hood was mesmerising, like a sporadic drumming in a jazz band, and he walked with easy, confident steps to the main street. Like the night before, only a few different places were open and their signs were put out in the cold, but since it was slightly darker the lights from inside refracted from the wet floor and back up at him. The streetlamps didn't feel nearly as out of place as the night before. The greengrocers were advertising a range of different coloured tomatoes and gourds.

The streets were no different from usual. The air was cool. He was in no hurry. No one crossed his path. 

Eventually he found his way to the crossroads in the middle of town, the place that made an ‘X’ which marked the very centre of Brayford. At one point in time it had been packed with cars going to and from each corner of the town - coal from the north, crops from the south, goods from the west and people from the east, but now it was quiet enough for Dream to hear the fizz of the traffic light as it changed colours for no one. He’d only ever seen it that busy in some of the old photographs that his grandmother kept, when it was bright and clear, and everyone was looking fancy in their Sunday best. The church that she used to frequent wasn't there anymore, and there were parts of Dream that both resented that fact and was thankful for. 

He stopped outside the bookstore that was desperate for customers and used its awning as shelter from the drizzle, learning on a papered-up telephone pole as he waited for a familiar mop of black hair to appear. 

In the meantime he did something inadvisable for anyone who was waiting for their first date in ages and picked up his phone to text Wilbur. 

It wasn't inadvisable because of their… _thing,_ but just because of the fact that it was _Wilbur_. He always made things more difficult than they needed to be.

_Tell me something that will boost my confidence._

Why?

_Personal reasons._

If you can't tell me then I can't tell you. Sorry! 

Dream huffed and resisted the urge to sink deeper into his jacket. 

_Don't tell anyone?_

Okay?

_I have a date. Sort of. I’m waiting for them to arrive._

Oh okay. 

Wait, sort of? 

_Long story. I’ll tell you if it ends up being a date._

_Well?_

Well?

_Come on. I’ve told you now._

Fine. You’re good at head?

_FIRST DATE Wilbur, there will be no head._

_Maybe-first date._

_I don't know._

That sounds boring.

Your maybe date should end with head. 

_No._

I don't know if I can help you anymore, then. 

Dream closed the conversation with Wilbur and pulled up Phil’s number. 

_Phil._

_You there?_

_Wilbur was no use._

_Never mind you’re no use either._

_Charge your phone for once._

_Say hi to your GF for me._

His phone buzzed with another message. 

I’ve just parked 😀

Are you at the main intersection?

_Yep. I have a bright green jacket, you can't miss me._

_There’s also no one else here, if that helps._

I don't know… 🙈 I might still miss you 

Joking. I’ll be there in 5 😉

Okay. Panic was back. Really bad, sick-to-your-stomach kind of panic. Dream took a breath, then another, and he closed the conversation as another one popped. 

**Don't get mad but Wil told me.**

_Oh no._

**You’ve got this!**

_I doubt that_ …

**You do. Don't argue with me. Whoever it is will love you (If it is a date) and you’re handsome and smart and good at the things you apply yourself to, and you deserve happiness.**

_George._

**No. You deserve happiness.**

_…_

_Thank you._

_I told you not to tell anyone, asshole._

Haha, whoops.

Sapnap was dressed nicely, which was what Dream first noticed as the other man crossed the intersection from the opposite corner, in a dark coloured waterproof jacket, undone at the front, and with a light grey t-shirt (although it could have been long sleeved - Dream couldn't tell) beneath it. His shoes and trousers were nondescript, but unlike the last time Dream had seen him, he was wearing a beanie to keep the hair out of his eyes instead of the sweatband. As Sapnap got close enough to be shown in the streetlamp, he could more clearly see that the beanie and his jacket were maroon in colour and damp with the rain, like he had some trouble finding a closer parking space.

“You made it,” Dream said with a smile, but inside he was cursing himself. _Of course he made it, he’s here_ , he thought.

“Yep,” Sapnap said with a smile, “A bit wetter than I wanted, but it seems to be easing off. How are you doing?”

_Nervous, clammy, wishing I wore more deodorant._

“Yeah, good. You?”

“I’m great. It’s my first weekend off in months. Let’s walk and talk, yeah? _Bill’s_ isn't too far from here, just down Westmore Avenue.” Sapnap gestured to the road in question, which lead southwards and out of town. 

“Cool. So do you work a lot, then?” Dream said, pulling up his hood again as he and Sapnap left the awning and the warm glow of the streetlight. They crossed the street and stuck to the right side of the road, being obscured from prying eyes as they passed in and out of the shadows. 

Sapnap nodded. “Well, I work two jobs. The pizza place has shit pay but more hours.”

“What else do you do?”

“I, uh,” he seemed embarrassed, “I teach math to kids after school twice a week. I do it before going to my other job.”

“Oh, sweet,” Dream said. He was never great at maths, since the subject itself didn't interest him, but physics was always a high-graded subject and he made a point of saying so. “I don't think a B+ will do much for me, but you know.” 

“Nah, dude, any grade is something to be proud of. I failed so many of my P.E. classes that the time I got a D- I was over the moon. I’m still proud… a little.” 

Dream chuckled. A car drove past them and the noise of its tyres hitting the wet ground faded into the distance. It was a quiet night, with only a couple of places they passed playing their radios loud enough to hear. They passed one building (if Dream wasn't mistaken it was often used for functions) that had its paint peeling down the sides, and he was stuck with a thought. 

“Hey,” he said before his train of thought could disappear, “I have an idea of where we can go.”

“Oh yeah? I’m still banking on a burger.”

“No, yeah, me too. But after. It’s takeaway only, right?”

“Uh-huh.” 

“But yeah. It’s pretty cool. I’ve only been there once though.”

“Time to make it twice, then.” Sapnap said with a smile. “So what do you do for fun?”

“Uh,” Dream said, and while he didn't want to sound lame he also didn't want to lie, “I usually just hit up the group chat and see if anyone’s around. We sometimes do things but more often than not we just hang out.”

“That’s fair. I tend to do that too, but we don't have that much to talk about. Small town where nothing happens - you know the drill.”

“All too well. Do you…” 

He trailed off, not knowing how to ask the question without it sounding either blunt or depressive. He tried to rephrase it, “Do you, well, like it?”

Sapnap kicked a particularly kickable leaf. His hair was much wetter than before and it dripped onto the shoulders of his jacket in little beads, which only made Dream wish his town was less shit. There were not any bus shelters to take refuge in, no restaurants that were fine with groups of teens or young adults coming in, and no public facilities that were open later at night. He’d love to have suggested the library or something, since it had seats and even a cafe, but work, life kept him from operating during the day. It seemed like for Sapnap it was more or less the same, although he didn't know what his town had in it. 

Sometimes he questioned why he never went to the towns near to his - they were only like an hour or so away - but he did eventually realise why. 

When your own situation is so poor, you sometimes worry that what’s out there is worse. What if he travelled the hour or so and didn't like it? ‘Better the devil you know’, and all that. 

Sapnap found his answer. 

“I’d rather have friends than not,” he said, “but to be honest, the reason why I was glad you gave me your number was just… because you’re someone _else_ , you know?”

“I do,” Dream admitted in a breath, “that’s why I gave you my number too.” 

“My town is cool and all - I live in Impingwood, by the way - It’s cool and all but I just wish there was _more_ ,” As if to emphasise the word, he made a gesture with his hands before him, “like, more to do, more to see. I don't care if it’s not a tourist town or whatever, but even like a new park or re-opening the old outdoor pool would make the place miles better.” 

Dream nodded along. “It’s like. The mine north of here, you know?”

“Yeah, Radford mine.”

“They were thinking about turning it into a nature reserve by filling it with water, since it’s like a hole in the ground, rather than a series of tunnels. People were really excited about it since it might make people want to come here, for like a holiday or whatever, but the plans fell through. The guy who owns it didn't want to invest. Now it just sits there.” 

Sapnap stopped under a street lamp, and Dream walked a few more steps before stopping maybe three feet away. He didn't look much different than before, just a bit wetter, but in the light from the streetlamp he looked cold, almost withdrawn, but not necessarily upset. 

“God, it’s just,” he said, voice tight, “this place _sucks_. Not Brayford, and not even Impingwood, but like… _here_.”

Dream didn't move for a second, but then he did, crossing the space between them with one step, two, before wrapping his arms around Sapnap in the strangest hug he had ever given. The other man didn't say anything, but after a moment, his hands wrapped around Dream’s middle and he rested his forehead on his shoulder. They stood there for a moment, the rain still gently falling, the light still gently falling, and with their chests still gently rising and falling. 

Sapnap didn't say anything, but then again he didn't have to. Dream understood where he was coming from with his statements, and wholeheartedly agreed with them, and so he didn't say anything either. 

Eventually, Sapnap pulled back from Dream’s embrace and used the back of his hand to rub the underside of his eye, but it didn't seem like it was out of embarrassment. Dream stayed close and stayed silent. 

“Thanks,” Sapnap said, “I had to really focus on saying ‘thanks’ there instead of ‘sorry’. You know, I read online this one time that it makes you seem more confident.”

Dream’s mouth twitched. He didn't doubt that his dimple was visible, but for once he didn't really care. 

“Do you think it worked?”

“Do _you?”_

“Yeah. Yeah I do.” 

“Well good,” Sapnap pulled the lapels of his jacket tighter around him, obscuring his shirt, “So uh. Should we keep going?”

“Only if you’re up for it,” was the immediate response, “I’m up for it if you are.” 

“Okay, let’s get going then.”

_Bill’s_ was a hole-in-the-wall burger place whose interior consisted only of a counter and a booth to wait on. The woman behind the counter (Brenda if Dream remembered correctly) was doing a crossword as Bill himself made their order in the back. The neon sign outside flickered, one of the ‘L’s being completely broken, while the rest of it cast a pink glow onto the wetness outside. Dream felt a little bad, being soaking wet and sitting on the booth, but Brenda didn't mention it, she just popped her gum and pencilled in word after word. 

“Are you working tomorrow?” Sapnap asked for lack of anything else to say.

“Yeah, in the afternoon.” 

“Damn, me too.” 

They were quiet. 

“Order 15,” Brenda said as she slid a bag over the counter. 

“Thanks,” Dream and Sapnap said almost in unison before leaving as quickly as possible. 

They left the restaurant (if it could be called that) and went back out into the evening, where it was almost completely dark, save for a sliver of pale blue on the horizon. It was barely visible, and nowhere near enough to light their way, but after stuffing their food into their pockets and with their sodas in hand, they began the trudge further south, along the road with cracks deep enough to slow down cars and grow poppies through them. The rain had eased off, with only a few specks of it floating through the air like fairy dust. It reminded Dream a bit of the ornamental cherry trees that lined the road to the middle school, when he looked out the car window at them in awe and wondered how it had happened seemingly overnight. 

Sapnap made a gentle conversation partner, talking about some of their mutual hobbies (it turned out that he and Sapnap played the same MMO, and they made a promise to play together when they were both free) and about their similar pasts. 

“It’s crazy that I only know you now,” Dream said, “You went to the high school here, right?”

“Yeah, Imping wood doesn't have its own. How old are you?”

“Twenty-one.”

“I’m twenty. It’s weird, I was always the oldest in the year, and here you are being the youngest.” 

“Life, ya’ know? Full of weird things.” 

Eventually, Dream stopped them in their tracks and looked to where he had brought them both. The abandoned gas station was an imposing figure at night, more so than when he had first visited it in the day, and Sapnap didn't say anything at first when Dream took some steps towards it. Dream turned back to look at him, but his face was unreadable, the streetlights behind him doing nothing to bare his face. 

“You know, I was joking when I said we could check out some of my old vandalism spots,” he said at last, and Dream, startled, barked out a laugh.

“No way,” he said, still laughing, “this wasn't intentional, I promise.” 

Sapnap laughed too, a bright sound in the darkness, and he immediately went towards the entrance to the shop inside the gas station. The ivy hadn't overtaken the doorway, but did disguise it slightly to the point where it looked like Sapnap just walked through the wall and into nothingness. 

“You coming?” he asked, and his face appeared as he turned on the flashlight on his phone. 

“Yep,” Dream was already making his way over, “you sure it’s safe to go in?”

Now illuminated by the blue-ish light of his phone, it was easy enough to see Sapnap shrug. “It seems okay, but maybe we shouldn't go underneath the collapsing bits, you know?”

Inside was pitch black, other than what Sapnap chose to grace with his flashlight, which only made Dream’s other senses pay more attention to anything and everything. His foot collided with a glass bottle, which skidded across the floor and disappeared into a hidden nook with a loud clatter. Dream looked at where he thought Sapnap stood in the darkness, but his eyes immediately went to where the flashlight was directed. 

All over the floor were broken shelves and shattered glass, kicked and broken down into heaps of tattered metal which were half painted white and half eaten with rust. A few pieces of plastic - bottles, candy wrappers and the like - stuck up from the mound, and closest to the wall a large cut out of carpet covered the rubble. The wall, however, was painted with a large, intricate mural, with bold, swooping black lines and vivid colours. It took him a moment to realise what the artwork was depicting, but when he saw the outline of what used to be the old church, the obvious shape of the war memorial and the Otterford bridge, the cross that made up the main intersection in town and the twisting spiral of the old coal mine, he realised. 

“Damn,” Dream said, for lack of anything else to say.

It was done in block colours and sharp lines, and none of the colours quite went together, with reds put next to greens put next to purples, but it made for a unique and intricate work, beautiful in its own right, put in the middle of a building, a town, that was falling to pieces. 

“It’s technically vandalism,” Sapnap said, but he didn't seem too concerned, “you know, it not being my abandoned building, but-”

“It’s gorgeous.” 

Sapnap closed his mouth.

“No, seriously. How long did this take?” 

“I… I mean. I planned it for a while. I just came up here over a couple of days and did it.”

Dream couldn't shut his mouth. Sapnap's hand faltered and the light fell back to the floor and its ruined coverings, obscuring the mural in darkness again. Dream closed his mouth and looked back at Sapnap. 

The other man looked nervous, still holding the cardboard soda cup in one hand and his face barely illuminated by the torch, like he didn't know what to think of Dream praising his hard work so openly and freely. Dream took a couple of steps closer. 

“I get it,” he said, and it didn't feel like enough.

“Do you?” Sapnap asked, voice small. 

“I think so,” Dream said, and he hoped… he hoped for something. “I get it. The wondering about other places, like if I had been born in a big city or wherever. Like, would my family miss me if I moved away? Would anyone else move too?”

Sapnap looked at him, his hair, jacket, beanie, eyes wet. 

“There’s, like, this connection. Between me and this piece of shit town. Between you and your piece of shit town. Between you and this one too.”

He nodded. 

“Would I be missed?” he asked. 

“Yeah. but I don't think anyone would blame us.”

“If I left?”

“Yeah.”

“If I disappeared?”

“Then they’d miss you even more.” 

Sapnap didn't move. There wasn't a need to. 

“Thank you,” he said. 

“Anytime,” Dream said, “Good job on not saying sorry.”

Sapnap chuckled. 

“I am sorry though. I keep springing these downer moments on you, which sucks and I don't want to do since this is like our first time hanging out and all.”

“Dude, let’s go on the roof. Have you been up there? We can actually eat these stone-cold fries that are probably awful now and talk about it.” 

“Sounds like a plan.”

The ladder up there squeaked and squealed as they climbed it, and for a second Dream was worried that the wetness would make them too much to handle, but they made it onto the roof just in time to see the horizon settle into a deep orange colour, with the parts closest to the clouds becoming purple. For what felt like the first time in days, maybe even weeks, Dream basked in the limited light that shone on them. Over the hedge which separated the gas station from the cornfields, Dream watched as the slight breeze shook the field like water, and it moved in waves back and forth unlike anything he had never seen before. Sapnap stood next to him and watched it too, but then sat down on the edge of the building, kicking his feet over the edge. Dream moved to do the same. 

In silence they ate their food, taking time to watch the sky turn from orange to red to violet to purple and finally to a dark blue, when it disappeared into the cloud cover. Sapnap's face was invisible. 

“Can I ask you something?” Sapnap asked when they were done eating.

“Sure.”

“Are you okay?”

Dream didn't take his eyes off the waves in the field. 

“I’m better than I was. Not fixed, but better. Are _you_ okay?”

“I think I’m in a similar boat.” 

Sapnap raised his cup of soda, and Dream cheersed him with his own. 

“Here’s to being in a similar boat.”

“Here’s to not being alone out here.”

“Here’s to Brayford.”

“Nah. Here’s to the middle of nowhere.”

Dream nodded. 

“To the middle of nowhere.” 

“So, was that a date?”

Dream startled, his knee jerking up into the underside of the checkout counter and knocking over the pen pot on the shelf beneath. Sapnap’s eyes went wide for a moment, and he took a step towards the counter. 

“Are you okay?”

“Ouch, yeah, just startled me is all.” 

Looking up at him, Dream noticed the trying-not-to-be-there smile on Sapnap’s face, which broadened to a grin when he noticed Dream looking back with an unimpressed expression. 

“We need to stop meeting like this.”

“You think I don't know that?”

“I know you do, but sometimes it’s good to state the obvious.” 

It was a blisteringly cold December morning, when the parking lot outside needed to be gritted before any customers could park their cars, and the sidewalks were icy with the leftover dampness of fall. It had been two weeks since the abandoned gas station had been pulled down, and 10 days since the post on Facebook about the art in the building got people talking about the mystery artist. It had been six days since Sapnap was commissioned to do a mural on the sides of Otterford bridge, and two since they went to the bonfire together. Last night it had snowed so heavily that Sapnap wasn't able to drive home from the bridge, and had texted Dream.

“How’s the mural?” 

He was in an unusually good mood, set by the morning coffee and the fact that it was a Thursday, despite being called into work to cover Fran’s shift. 

“It’s too wet to work on it. I told the organiser and he said it’s fine to wait for it to get drier again.”

“That’s good. Did dad say anything about you staying over?”

“Nah. He asked me to ask you to get milk though.” 

“Do you want to stay over again?”

“Please.” 

Dream smirked and opened up the checkout lane, before making grabby hands at what Sapnap held in his hands. He remembered: 

A Mars Bar,

A tub of hot chocolate powder (the good stuff),

A tube of wrapping paper, 

The way Sapnap tucked a stray piece of hair behind his ear with one hand, 

Toothpaste,

A newspaper ( _The Old Ford,_ their local one, with a picture of Otterford Bridge on the front),

The way their hands brushed against one another,

A carton of milk,

And, 

“You didn't answer my question.”

Dream glanced up. “Work is fine,” he said, “the usual. Better now that you’re here and all that.”

“No my other one. Was it a date?” 

He scanned the carton of milk slower than he might have otherwise. “Did you want it to be one?” he asked, mouthing the words carefully as if to evoke their meaning more clearly. 

Sapnap smirked.

“Don't be mad, Wilbur told me.”

“That bitch.”

“And George.”

“Oh, well, I can't be mad at him, I guess.” 

“So was it?”

Sapnap had shoved everything into his rucksack, the tube of wrapping paper sticking out the back of it like a brightly coloured sword, and the pocket of his hoodie poorly concealing the Mars Bar. Dream had a hard time concentrating, too busy looking into the chestnut colour around his eyes. 

“Dream.”

“I wanted it to be. Sort of. It was like a case of, ‘I’ll see where it takes me’.” 

“In hindsight, was it a date?”

“No? I don't think either of us thought of it as a date.”

“But like… was it?”

“Was the time you showed up and bought washing-up liquid, olive oil, ketchup, scissors, oil and popsicle sticks a date?”

Sapnap stayed quiet, but he gave Dream a look like he couldn't believe that he remembered that.

“Look, we’re not going to pretend that was a date.”

“I don't know, I felt like it was pretty intimate when I was ignoring the plastic bottle ring stuck on your thumb.” 

“Dream.”

He shut his mouth with a click. Sapnap went from one foot to the other, before saying “Don't tell your boss,” and leaning over the counter to kiss him. 

It… sure was something. The edge of the counter dug into his stomach at a weird angle, and he could smell the musty-fresh scent of snow on Sapnap’s hair, which had followed him inside. Dream’s own lips were chapped but warm, contrasting with Sapnap’s chilled and soft ones, and he felt the need to tilt his head slightly one way to sink deeper into the other man. It was uncoordinated when Sapnap slipped his mouth open slightly, but Dream didn't mind and took his share in full. 

He tasted, very slightly, of cherries. 

Dream pulled back and grinned, knowing that his hair (which seriously needed a cut) was all over the place now. Sapnap looked a little better, and if push came to shove, he could probably say that the blush was from the cold. 

“My lips are sealed,” Dream murmured, knowing that he looked almost drunk. 

“They better be. Tell George that we should meet up now that he’s back, and to bring his new friend.” 

“‘Friend’,” Dream scoffed, “they’re having sex. One-hundred percent.”

“Doesn't mean they’re dating.” 

“True. good luck out there.” 

“ _I really can't stay_ ,” Sapnap rose the pitch of his voice to mimic the beginning of the song, but he couldn't keep it up as Dream pulled a face, descending into laughter. 

“I’ll see you tonight,” Dream settled on saying instead, “love you.”

“Love you too.”

And with that, Sapnap in his grey hoodie disappeared out of the store and into the winter's day, leaving Dream to do nothing but remember him for the rest of his shift, until he could find his way back home through the snow and be rewarded for his efforts back home. He knew that as soon as his shift was over, he would hurry.

_I TOLD YOU NOT TO TELL ANYONE, WILBUR._

Haha, whoops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT IS DONE!!!
> 
> I wasn't joking when I said that this was 100% finished when I first published it, and it's really unfortunate that there was the big gap in the middle, considering the fact that I was planning on posting this chapter on friday last week, but that's life, I guess. 
> 
> As always, Comments, Kudos and bookmarks are really appreciated and I love you all the more for it. Thank you for reading, and see you (potentially) next time!

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading this! It's being published in parts (like my last piece) because of editing and working out some of the kinks in the chainmail. I (somehow???) wrote all of this in like a week so it probably needs it. 
> 
> If you enjoyed this, please let me know! I'd love to know what people think, and kudos/comments/bookmarks are the easiest way to let me know :) 
> 
> I dont support the shipping of real life people, which is why this piece is set in an AU based more so on their personas rather than them as irl people. As far as I'm currently aware, Dream, George and Sapnap are fine with fanfiction being written about them at this time, but if shipping content is considered incorrect by the creators in the future, or just fanfiction at all, this work will be deleted. The last thing I want to do is offend them or make them uncomfortable.
> 
> Find me on Tumblr: @turtle-ier  
> Find me on Twitter: @Turtle_ier


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